


step into the clouds

by windupbirdgirl



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Kinda, M/M, spans from just after the gpf, they work things out, they're so in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9593273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windupbirdgirl/pseuds/windupbirdgirl
Summary: “I made sure to learn the most important phrase first.”The book falls to the floor too, forgotten. “And what would that be?” Viktor slides his hand under Yuuri’s shirt, tracing his way up the arches of his spine.Yuuri leans in close, his hair brushing Viktor’s cheek. Neither of them will ever get bored of the shared space between them.“я люблю тебя.”Viktor snorts, “I should have known.”“Too cheesy?”“Not at all.” Viktor shifts, folding Yuuri backwards. “Say it again.”(They have all the time in the world.)





	

It would be an understatement for Viktor to say that Yuuri doesn’t think highly of himself.

On a day-to-day basis, Yuuri would float somewhere between ‘not good enough’ and ‘hard work will pay off.’ It was confusing to someone like Viktor, that even after winning silver Yuuri would let praise roll off of him like water from a duck’s back, shaking his head and smiling quietly during interviews and phone calls.

They were in their hotel room. It was late, nearly three o’clock in the morning and Viktor stepped out of the shower, towelling his hair, pausing as he scanned the empty room.

“Yuuri?” He pulled on a shirt.

The draped curtains by the windows shifted, and a hand poked out from under the material, shushing him. Viktor stifled a laugh as Yuuri resumed his hushed Japanese, each syllable even on his tongue.

A few minutes later, Viktor hears Yuuri say goodbye. He repeats it several times, laughing before Viktor hears the click of a line disconnecting.

He pulls back the curtain, revealing a flustered Yuuri wearing soft shorts and a worn out t-shirt, back against the cool glass. “Can I join you?” He extends a hand as he sits down.

“You just did,” Yuuri tried to sound stern, but he was smiling as he took Viktor’s hand in his own.

“Was that your family?” Viktor rested their joined hands on his knee. Yuuri huffed out a laugh, leaning against Viktor’s shoulder; his glasses were sharp against Viktor's skin and the window was cold, but Viktor didn't notice.

“Yeah. They were congratulating me. Yuuko was practically _crying_.” He said this kindly, albeit sounding surprised. It struck Viktor that Yuuri sometimes forgets how much others care for him. Or rather, he can't believe it.

He brought Yuuri’s hand to his lips, kissing his thumb. “What else would they be doing?”

Yuuri blinked at the floor, his blush creeping up his neck and over his ears. “It’s still hard to believe,” He admitted, biting his nail. “I never thought I’d get here. With you. Like this.”

“No?” Viktor’s lips moved upwards, over the pale expanse of Yuuri’s wrist. “You sell yourself short.”

Sounds of the city beneath them filled the room, the faint cry of an ambulance, a low bass echoing from a distant club. The silver medal lay innocently on the bedside table.

“I’m serious.” Yuuri’s voice was barely audible against his neck. “Thank you, for everything.”

Viktor's fingers traced the gold ring. “Ah,” He teased, “I believe you’ve already thanked me for that.”

“That was before I’d won anything.”  

“Do I get a present now, too?” He waggled his right hand in front of them, the ring glinting suggestively. Yuuri shifted, reaching out to grab Viktor’s hand.

“What are you—” Yuuri kissed the ring, slowly, soft lips on cool metal. When he exhaled, it was damp warmth between Viktor’s fingers. It was warm everywhere, actually; Yuuri’s body temperature ran high, like a child’s, and his weight against Viktor’s was anchoring, comforting.

Yuuri’s eyes were dark, lashes brushing pink cheeks.

Viktor was slightly breathless. He couldn't really help it.

* * *

The Inn was deceptively quiet when they returned in the late evening. The light from inside spilt out through the windows and turned the snow amber.

Yuuri’s eyes were tired under his glasses: purple shadows, an extra crease in his forehead, all tell-tale signs of his exhaustion. He paused outside the door with his hand hovering mid-air, contemplating something unknown before turning to Viktor.

“You don’t think,” His whisper was barely audible. Viktor had to lean in. “They’ve planned something, do you?”

 _Oh Yuuri,_ Viktor thought sadly, wondering if Yuuri will ever truly be able to understand the people around him. "Not that I know of," Viktor said, crossing his fingers behind his back.

They were two feet into the _genkan_ when the first streamer flew through the air, garish ribbons falling onto Yuuri’s head and catching on his glasses.

Viktor only just heard a desperate “oh _no,”_ before a door slid open with a bang to reveal what could possibly be the entire population of Hasetsu, plus Makkachin.

_“Congratulations, Yuuri!”_

It would probably have been quite amusing, watching the babble of Yuuri’s family and friends as they surrounded him, but Yuuri’s smile was strained. They’d just finished a fourteen-hour journey, and after the stress of the Grand Prix Final-

You couldn’t exactly blame him for wanting some hard-earned rest.

Yuuri was tugged away by his mother, leading him to an honorary _katsudon,_ leaving Viktor momentarily stranded in the entryway. Toshiya spots him immediately.

“Ah, Viktor. Congratulations to you too.” He beamed, raising his glass. His features were very similar to Yuuri’s.

Viktor smiled back and waved, quickly returning his phone into his pocket. “Hello, Katsuki-san. How's the business?"

After half an hour of small talk and reuniting with Makkachin, Viktor was about to make his way to the bedrooms, his own bag on one shoulder and Yuuri’s on the other when Minako detached herself from the hullabaloo, an unopened beer in each hand.

“Viktor.” The teacher looked older, as though the fine lines and grey hairs had been gently woven into her features overnight. She threw her thumb backwards, gesturing towards – Viktor didn’t know the Japanese word for it, he’d have to ask Yuuri – the balcony outside. “You have some time? It’s too hot in here.”

Their luggage could wait. “I do.”

It had been the right thing to say; her eyebrows rose, lips curling. “Have a drink with me.”

Ten minutes later, Minako had already finished her drink (Viktor wasn’t quite sure how many she’d had before that) and was swinging her legs over the frozen pond beneath them, cheeks rosy. In that moment, she had the air of a young girl; bright eyes staring up at the stars, the pale moonlight stroking away the wrinkles with utmost care.

“I’m going to tell you something.” She hiccupped slightly. “About Yuuri, that is.”

Viktor smiled inside his scarf, fiddling with the tab on the beer can. The metal was was ice cold and burned his palm, so he placed it gently on the floor, unopened.

“When Yuuri was younger – God, this must have been, what, over ten years ago now?” Minako traced the old wood, her long nails sliding through ancient grooves, “He came second in a regional competition. Not a big one, but he’d been practicing for a long time.”

“He should have been proud, yes?” His eyes met hers. Viktor imagined that the gentle sadness he saw in her eyes was reflected in his own.

“Yes. But he wasn’t.” She inhaled, sharply, scrunching up her forehead. “At the time, I couldn’t understand why. He kept going into these – I don’t know – these moods. I’d arrive at the ballet studio, and he’d already be there, a full two hours before his lesson was supposed to start.”

“That doesn’t sound…unusual. Not for Yuuri.” Never for Yuuri.

“I know.” The collective adoration for Yuuri of the people of Hasetsu was evident in her gaze, hard as steel, as she puts a hand on his shoulder. “Which is why you need to keep an especially close eye on him.”

“Yuuri is capable of making his own decisions, Minako.”

“Of course he is. Sometimes he just doesn’t make the healthiest ones.”

Viktor stood, plucking Minako’s empty can from her as he went. Her hands fell at her sides, limply.

“Thank you for telling me,” His open smile was genuine, he believed, as was Minako’s weary one. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t overwork himself.” At least, not anymore than he already does.

Minako was suddenly older again as Viktor opened the sliding door, yellow light flooding her face like old parchment. “You do that.” She waved sloppily over her shoulder. “Now go find that boy.”

“That's the plan.”

The inn was stuffy, the smell of rich food mingling with alcohol and sweat. Both the TV and the stereo were switched on, creating an additional fuzz of noise among the voices. Viktor wasn’t sure how or when this dining room, with its patched tatami mats and haphazard furnishings, had begun to feel like home, but it had. Possibly he didn’t plan on telling Yuuri this.

At the largest table, Yuuri was wedged between Mari and Yuuko, looking a little uncomfortable. Both women were a little past tipsy, fawning as Yuuri retrieved his medal begrudgingly.

“It’s so…it’s so shiny!” Yuuko blubbered, holding the medal up to the lampshade and it glinted, softly, under the glow. “Oh, _Yuuri_ …we’re so _proud!_ ”

Takeshi patted her on the back awkwardly.

Yuuri didn’t notice Viktor until he’d dropped down beside him and stretched his arm behind Yuuri’s waist loosely.

“Oh.” Yuuri leant backwards. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” He found Yuuri’s hand under the table and squeezed it.

Mari chose this instant to notice him and spun around, the medal firmly in her grasp as she swayed somewhat, a reed in the wind. “Viktor! You’re home! Have you _seen_ his medal?”

“I have, actually.”

“It’s so _lovely,_ Yuuri! And—” Mari turned to Yuuko, almost knocking over several glasses in the process, “Yuuko, didn’t we know he could do it?”

There were tears in Yuuko’s eyes as she blinked sleepily, raising her hand up as if to announce something and then bringing it back down. “We _did._ You were _this teeny,_ Yuuri—” Her thumb and forefinger were barely an inch apart, “And you’ve grown so much!”

Yuuri looked torn between flattered and horrified. It’s the face he makes when people recognise him in the street, or when Viktor buys him a gift that isn’t strictly for his birthday. Viktor disguised his laugh as a cough.

There was a large cabinet in the corner, proudly displaying rows upon rows of trophies, rosettes, medals with 'Katsuki Yuuri' inscribed upon them in a multitude of languages. Viktor knows that Hiroko always saves time for them as she flurries through the inn with a duster during her morning clean-ups. Yuuri doesn’t.

He found himself wondering if the silver medal will join their ranks, too.

“Viktor.” Something poked at his side.

Automatically, he said: “Yes, dear?”

Yuuri frowned at him from under his arm. His hair was in an adorable disarray and Viktor had the sudden urge to run his hands through it, so he did.

“Were you listening to me?”

“Of course.” He tried for a smile, reaching down to zip up Yuuri’s hoodie. It was getting chilly; the doors were wide open, people smoking in the moonlight, and it simply wouldn’t do for Yuuri to catch a cold.

“I said—” Yuuri lowered his voice, a conspirator. “You need to make an excuse for us to leave.”

“Why me?”

“They’ll listen to you. If I try, they’ll just laugh and then I’ll agree to another drinking game. And we don’t want that.”

“We don’t?”

“Absolutely not.” Yuuri’s eyelids fluttered as he tries not to yawn.

After extracting themselves from a final round of karaoke and (to Yuuri’s dismay) a round of _Pin Pon Pan_ , they finally escaped into the dark hallway outside. As soon as the door to their (Yuuri’s) room slid shut, the quiet night sunk around them like a veil.

Immediately, Yuuri dropped his bags on the floor with a _thunk_ and collapsed onto the bed.

“That was exhausting.” Yuuri’s voice was muffled against the pillows.

Viktor paused while pulling off his shirt, “I thought you handled it well, considering.”

"No thanks to you," Yuuri added grumpily to his pillow, swinging his legs in the air. "I thought Minako would never let us leave. Unpack tomorrow?"

Snorting, Viktor joined him under the covers. "Well, It’s not like we’re going anywhere else anytime soon.”

“That’s good.” Yuuri twisted over, reaching out. “A whole two weeks.”

“We can get lots of practice done.” Viktor agreed, gathering him up and tucking his chin over Yuuri’s hair. He smelt like airports and cigarette smoke but then so did Viktor.

“What about—” Blinking up at him slowly, Yuuri looked unsure. “Where do we go after this season?”

Viktor considered this. He didn’t need to ask Yuuri what he meant, as he’d been thinking about it as well. As much as he loved Hasetsu, with its salt-filled air and distant mountains, it wasn’t the ideal training destination.

“We don’t have to decide that now, I suppose." He kissed Yuuri’s forehead.

Yuuri hummed non-committedly, already asleep, which was typical.

In the morning, Viktor rose early and went in search of a coffee; he’s passing the dining room, flooded with the violet dawn when something catches his eye.

Yuuri’s medal had joined the ranks of his other prizes, hanging from a hook in the cabinet, a silver coin nestled amongst bronze and gold.

It looked like it could’ve been there for all eternity.

* * *

“Why are you talking to _me_ about this? It’s almost like you don’t have any friends your age.”

Viktor’s smile is tense as he readjusted his phone, propped between his ear and shoulder as he rummages for a pen. “I was just asking your opinion, Yurio.”

Yurio’s dramatic sigh was a rush of static. “Just ask him if he’d want to move. He can’t agree or disagree if he doesn’t know anything about it, old man.”

“What if he’s anxious about it? I’ll wake up at midnight and he’ll be at the desk, writing out a risk assessment or something. You have no idea.”

It was rare that Viktor turned to Yurio to be the voice of reason. The sun was high in the sky, and everyone else in the complex was busy; Yuuri’s parents were at the market, Mari had disappeared, and Yuuri himself had already been at the rink for nearly an hour. He sorely missed the fluid familiarity of Russian even if he didn’t want to admit it. Yurio’s direct and abrasive advice had become something he could treasure like precious stones.

“Listen.” Yurio’s tone was unusually serious. “He can’t really believe that the best place for the two of you is that poky seaside resort. You said so yourself.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he wants to leave Japan to train.”

“Think about it, Viktor. It doesn’t make sense for you both to stay in the middle of nowhere while – and don’t interpret this as me wanting to spend time with you – the rest of us are over here, at a proper establishment.”

Viktor found his pen, hiding amongst the crumbs at the bottom of his rucksack, and uncapped it. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I usually am. Also, you must’ve racked up an incredible phone bill.” Then there was shouting on Yurio’s end, and Viktor could hear him tutting in irritation from a million miles away.

“You’re right again. Goodbye, Yurio.”

“Bye.” There was a pause. “Tell Katsudon not to work himself into the ground before I do it for him at Worlds.”

“I’ll tell him just how much you miss him, don’t worry.”

“Oh my God, why do I talk to you—” The line went dead, and the world was quiet again.

* * *

It was only a few days until Nationals when they wake up to find a world painted white.

Yuuri was dismayed as he leans out the window, collecting snowflakes in his outstretched hand. They melted instantly against the heat of his palm.

“How are we supposed to get to the rink?” Yuuri fretted, flopping back down beside Viktor, who smiled brightly.

“We don’t. I’ve planned a special training day.” He got up a little too quickly and his head spun, “We’re going to shovel snow.”

It was rare for Yuuri to take any time off, nowadays. He’d be jogging at dawn, returning from Minako’s studio as dusk, and the circles under his eyes were growing, watered and fed by hours upon hours of workouts and practice sessions. The warnings from Minako and Yurio rang clear in Viktor’s head as he watched Yuuri burn himself out again and again; there was a desperate need for intervention.

“Nationals are in three days.” Yuuri was framed against the bedsheets, the snowfall outside casting heavenly shadows over the room. Viktor, feeling impossibly gentle, bent down until he could hear Yuuri’s breathing, hovering over his neck.

“So? We can shovel our way to the rink if that’s what you want.” He pressed a kiss to the underside of Yuuri’s jaw, slowly. It was really very lovely, the way Yuuri’s breathing changed as he met his eyes.

Yuuri squirmed, looping his arms around Viktor's neck sweetly. “Ah—” Viktor moved his mouth downwards, slightly. “Don’t think you’ll be able to convince me like that.”

“Was that a challenge?"

“Your competitiveness is getting unhealthy, I think," Yuuri's breathing became shallower, "But do continue." 

The snow was still at least two-feet high when they finally emerged from the inn. Viktor inhaled the silver snowfall and sharp salt of the sea. 

Yuuri led him to a small shed behind the inn, retrieving two shovels and a bag of salt and setting them on a small table.

“We should clear the main entrance first, it’s probably—” He broke off, looking pensive.

“What?” The shovel was rusty, paint flaking off onto Viktor’s Armani gloves when he picked it up.

The sun chose that moment to come out from behind the clouds: the snow gleamed beneath it, almost aggressively.

“No, I just thought—” Yuuri removed his glasses, wiped them on his coat. “If…if that video was never posted, imagine how different this would be.”

Viktor sliced through the snow cleanly with the blunt shovel. It was very satisfying. “How so?”

“Well, I mean.” Yuuri set to work a few metres ahead of him, knee-deep in the white powder. “You’d be in Russia, winning medals. And I’d be here, shovelling snow.”

His tone was neutral, but there was something buried deeper within it. It wasn’t unusual for him to say things like this. Nationals were indeed only three days away, the anniversary of Yuuri’s descent into binging and depression. Viktor knew the failure still left a sour taste in Yuuri’s mouth, a dark spot which he’d never truly be able to erase. Viktor leant down, scooping up some snow. “Oh?”

“Think about it. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be able to—”

He compressed the snow into a ball, took aim.

“—Be out there on the ice, being amazing and—”

The snowball hit Yuuri directly on his head, falling down his jacket and soaking his hair; he jumped as if he’d been shot. He spun around, one hand on his head, the other frantically shaking the snow out from his coat.

“What the hell was that for?”

Viktor shrugged cheerfully, “If you’re going to say things like that, you’re going to have to face the consequences.” He picked up the shovel again, whistling, and a few moments later he felt Yuuri wrap an arm around his waist from behind.

“Yuuri, Yuuri.” He let his hands fold over Yuuri’s, their gloves only a minor barrier. “What are you doing?”

Yuuri sniffed, burying his nose into Viktor’s scarf. It was very endearing. “This.” He whispered tenderly, shoving a handful of snow straight up Viktor’s shirt.

* * *

“I must say,” Mari snuffed her cigarette in an ashtray, staring at Viktor with a look of amused incredulity, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone scream so loudly.”

Viktor grimaced, readjusting his cup. “In all fairness,” He announced, flicking his hair out of his eyes. Yuuri sniggered to his left. “I’ve never felt anything so cold in my entire life. Especially not down my trousers.”

Mari made a noise that was halfway between a cough and a wheeze. “But you’re a figure skater. You live on ice.”

“He is very fragile,” Yuuri added delicately, peeling a tangerine.

Viktor couldn't find it within himself to disagree with that, so he opted for stealing a segment of Yuuri’s orange instead. The tart juice was invigorating on his tongue, the heater underneath the _kotatsu_ soothing. These Japanese winters were very comfortable.

* * *

Viktor never used to go for runs later than around eleven o’clock; he’d always found that the crisp morning air was far more enticing than the lull of an afternoon, and he’d usually needed to spend the rest of the day at the rink, training.

After moving to Hasetsu, he found himself jogging alone while Yuuri was at Minako’s. It was easier this way. The winds blown in from out at sea were less harsh against his skin, the sun would dip in and out of clouds leisurely as he made his way from one side of the coast to the other.

Another reason for this change was Makkachin. It’d become gradually more difficult to entice him on a walk, to coax him out from the laundry pile underneath Yuuri’s bed. Viktor couldn’t pretend he wasn’t worried about it, not even to Yuuri.

The pictures of Vicchan dotted around the inn became, to Viktor, a painful foreshadowing of what was soon to come: Yuuri would notice him staring at the photographs, numbly. He’d wrap his arms around Viktor’s shoulders, not saying anything, just watching as Viktor combed Makkachin’s fur gently, teasing out each tangle as if it were made of glass.

It was an unusually mild day in February when Viktor came home to find Yuuri snuggled on Viktor’s sofa, Makkachin held close in his lap, a thick book in his hands.

“Hi.” Viktor slid the door shut, unzipping the horrible hoodie he'd borrowed from Yuuri. “What are you reading?”

Yuuri held the book outwards, offering it to Viktor. “Hello,” He said, and patted the space next to him so Viktor sat, obediently. “I thought I should start practicing.”

Viktor took the book from him, turning it over in his palm.

_‘101 First Phrases in Russian.’_

He opened it slowly, flicking through the pages. He knew he should respond, but Yuuri was smiling softly at him with those sincere eyes, and Viktor felt something pull tight in his throat.

“I know we haven’t talked about it properly yet. I didn’t want to rush anything.” Yuuri explained, tracing the edge of the language phrasebook. “But I think that’s what we need to do. Don’t you?”

“You’re so full of surprises, Yura.”

Yuuri grinned, dislodging Makkachin as he moved onto Viktor’s lap clumsily, kicking a cushion onto the floor. Viktor’s hands came up to Yuuri’s waist automatically to hold him in place.

“I made sure to learn the most important phrase first.”

The book fell to the floor too, forgotten. “And what would that be?” Viktor slid his hand under Yuuri’s shirt, tracing his way up the arches of his spine, up hot skin.

Yuuri leant in close, his hair brushing Viktor’s cheek. Neither of them will ever get bored of the shared space between them.

“я люблю тебя.”

Viktor smirked, “I should have known.”

“Too cheesy?”

“Not at all.” Viktor shifted, folding Yuuri backwards. “Say it again."

* * *

On the Inn’s busiest nights, Viktor would be enlisted onto the Katsuki household workforce.

(His offers to help on quieter nights would be waved away with a laugh, a glass pressed into his hand firmly, insisting he was the guest and should act as such.)

He doesn’t mind it at all. Talking to visitors in his fragmented Japanese as he served bowls of steaming stews or _sake_ in little crystal glasses, helping Hiroko prepare dishes in the kitchen: it was all welcome. It felt like home.

“My, you’re so good at this, Vicchan!” Hiroko beamed, clapping her stout hands together as Viktor sliced vegetables with unprecedented speed and precision. “Where on Earth did you learn how to do that?”

Viktor moved onto the bell peppers. “Oh, you know,” He said airily, “I suppose I just picked it up somewhere.

Yuuri, who’d seen Viktor watch countless YouTube videos instructing helpless viewers on how to perfectly prepare Japanese meals, snorted loudly as he walked past, carrying a crate of beers. Viktor cleared his throat.

“Well, I suppose that doesn’t matter!” A big cloud of steam engulfed the kitchen as Hiroko removed the lid from a large pot to stir its contents. “We’re so glad you’re here.”

Guilt rode through Viktor in waves. Yuuri had barely been back home for a year, and during that time he’d been whisked off to the four corners of the world for weeks at a time. Away from his family, away from his home, and that was about to become a lot more permanent.

Viktor opened his mouth to say something, but Hiroko raised a gentle finger to his lips to stop him. “Yuuri already told me about Russia, if that’s what you were going to say.” Her tone is soft, if tinged with sadness.

“How did you know I was about to tell you?”

Hiroko chuckled, nudging Viktor out of the way as she picks up the knife. “A mother’s intuition.” Her eyes twinkled as she looks up at him, her glasses’ lens smudged with grease. Yuuri’s eyes.

“I see.” Viktor hesitated, adding the vegetables to a simmering dish. “And you don’t…you don’t mind?”

“Of course I mind.” Hiroko said, “But I want what’s best for Yuuri. And so do you. So I am happy with whatever decision he chooses to make.”

“Thank you.”

“Make sure you look after him. That boy.” She patted Viktor on the back, moving her hand in slow circles. “And look after yourself, too. Eat proper food.”

A warm feeling swelled up in Viktor’s chest. His heart moved into his throat.

“We will.”

* * *

When their plane touched down in St. Petersburg, Russia, 6:00 PM local time, it’s raining heavily. Viktor stared out the tiny window, the darkness outside impenetrable. He turned to Yuuri, solemnly.

“The Motherland has blessed us with excellent weather.”

Yuuri paused in his struggle to retrieve his carry-on from the luggage compartment, raised his eyebrows, “can’t you wait until we’re off the plane until you start being weird?” 

“I can’t do that Yuuri, it’s who I am.”

Viktor flung his arms out wide when they stepped out the airport doors, breathing deeply. The six-hour flight had been cramped and uncomfortable, even with Yuuri’s shoulder to lean on. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed Russia, the fast-paced world of St. Petersburg ceaseless in its antics, towering buildings framed by the orange rainclouds, lit up by streetlights, above them.

Yuuri was less cheerful. Clad in sweatpants and an unhappy pout, he stood holding his suitcase, effortlessly beautiful as they waited for a taxi.

“We’re going to your apartment first, right?”

Viktor squeezed his hand quickly behind their suitcases. _“Our_ apartment.” He corrected.

This earned him a smile. Yuuri’s blush reached his ears. “Our apartment.”

They didn't really have the energy to do anything once they got back. Viktor’s flat was cold and dusty with disuse, so all they could do to escape the chill was curl up together in Viktor’s king-size bed.

“I’m so happy,” Yuuri whispered against his shoulder at midnight.

Viktor tucked an arm around Yuuri’s waist, building a home. “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was SO much fun to write, i love writing interactions between v and the katsuki family, it gives me life
> 
> also:  
> *yuuri in a vulnerable state, questioning his self-worth*  
> viktor, to himself: comfort him and show ur love  
> inner viktor: throw snowballs at him, he'll love it
> 
> OH and the phrase yuuri learns is "I love you" if anyone was wondering >.< I was too embarrassed to think of one more daring than that lol
> 
> please point out any typos!!  
> thank you for reading!!


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